


Whatever a Fly Jar Is, I Guess

by buttmaster



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttmaster/pseuds/buttmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dream interpretation? Really, Dave?"</p><p>"No, look, this is a good one. So, I was rapping..."</p><p>"Shocker. I am so shocked. I could power Las Vegas for a week, with how shocked I am."</p><p>"No, shut up. Just. Stop. But then out of nowhere, this girl appears."</p><p>"Dave, I am not analyzing your sex dream. Not until it has a guy in it."</p><p>"This isn't a... you know, forget it. Never mind. You always do this. I just thought you'd want to know and could maybe help. Who else am I going to ask? The stockboy?"</p><p>"The stockboy could be a wealth of dream interpreting knowledge, Dave. You don't know."</p><p>"The only things he knows, as far as I can tell, is where to buy the shittiest weed imaginable and everything there is to know about speed metal. I will turn to him if I ever really need to know about Megadeth or want a really unsatisfying high. So, anyway. This girl, she was a catgirl."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever a Fly Jar Is, I Guess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mahwaha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahwaha/gifts).



> This isn't exactly what you requested, but I hope you like it all the same.

The stage was bright, Dave Strider was sweating. In front of him was a sea of cheering fans, faces obscured by shadow. He was nervous, but confident. He didn't quite know how he'd made it here, but he had, and the stage was his. The beat filled his ears and he nodded along with it, clutching the microphone.

"Yeah, uh, alright. Check it. D. Stride in the house, are you ready? Alright...

Get your faces rocked off by my choice rap prowess,  
My talent so strong, my ability boundless,  
I'm the duke of hot rhymes, and I'm looking for my countess,  
Do I know how royal titles work? Shit, man, that is doubtless.

I'm so hype, man, that I am my own hype man,  
Got this down to an art, call me the new Paul Cézanne.  
Other rappers are squares, I'm the dawn of cubism.  
Pave the way for my fame, that's called opportunism.

I see that brass ring, you know I'm gonna grab it,  
Because I'm part blue blur and part wisecracking rabbit.  
What's up, Doc? It's just that my rhymes are too ill.  
Make so much cash, I can make my own green hill."

A shadow passed over Dave and he took a second to glance upward. Was that a tail? In his pondering, he missed the next line. The beat was a bit distorted, and the crowd became even more featureless. The shadow passed by him again and he turned. He swore he saw a blue-grey, pointed ear, but then nothing. Was there a cat in here?

The beat dripped and ran and oozed into nothingness, and the crowd seemed even flatter. "Awww..." A new voice called from behind him. "Is that the end? I was enjoying that!" Dave spun around and came almost face to face with a woman. A little shorter than he was, with a grey tint to her skin and wild grey-blue hair framing her face. She was all smiles and bright yellow cat eyes. She was just simply, in a long olive coat, or robe, and what looked to be a blue pelt of some kind over that. She was barefoot. And floating. The floating was the most important part.

"Uh, what?" Dave squinted as he looked at her, the world tinted through his shades.

"Oh, I guess the dream is over. Okay, well, I'll be seeing you!"

\---

Dave bolted upright, though it was more from how loud his alarm clock was rather than the whole cliche oh god it was a dream reaction. He knew it was a dream. The girl had said it was a dream, so, it wasn't a surprise. Though the fact that it was kind of sucked, given the whole wild success and adoring crowds thing. That was pretty baller.

Not to say that Dave Strider's life wasn't cool or anything. It was. In its own way. Like he had a photography gig. Sure, it was taking pictures of food items for a supermarket circular. There wasn't much creative license on how to show a box of store brand honey nut oat clusters or whatever that were 25% off until Sunday. But it was a job and it paid and he got to use a camera and he wasn't stocking shelves. And his job did use his college degree, so he had one up on approximately 80% of his friends. It wasn't National Geographic or the New York Times or Suicide Girls but it was something...

He'd slammed the off button on his alarm clock and got up, heading to do all that gross and/or boring morning ritual stuff that a narrator doesn't really need to go into detail over. Suffice to say, when it was all over, Dave was cleaner, a little lighter, and had minty fresh breath, basically.

Then it was a matter of getting dressed, no uniform, thank the gods, whichever ones controlled that sort of thing, and then it was off to the bus. Dave had his phone out and, well, he couldn't stop thinking about that dream. It was a usual dream. The rap part anyway. The floating woman was new. He went through his contact list and wondered if Rose was up. His estranged half-sister who he hadn't even known about until he was a teenager. The one who, well, that shouldn't be expanded upon either. Suffice to say, hormones and not-exactly-related-except-they-totally-were made for some interesting Pesterchum conversations that Dave would come to regret and Rose would never stop bringing up. It was... not good.

It was also 8AM, which meant it was 9AM there, which meant no way in hell was Rose awake. Oh well. He'd put his phone away again, and then fidget, pull it out, and check the bus schedule. If he didn't, he'd probably doze off leaning against the bus station. He'd swear... any bus he wasn't trying to get on was always right on time. He'd see them from his window. But as soon as he needed it, it would be late. Not that it mattered. His boss was chill and Dave got his work done even if he was two minutes tardy, so whatever.

\---

"Okay, break for lunch. That's the end for cereals. Come back in 20 and we're doing diapers. Then feminine products, okay, Strider?"

Dave gave a quick and sloppy salute. "Aye-aye, captain. We doing adult diapers or the baby kind?"

"I... what does that matter?"

"Filters, dude. All about filters. I mean, you want this shit done right, right? Right filter, the right lens, and people will be flocking to get these diapers for the amazing deal you're giving them. Even if they don't have babies. Or incontinent relatives. I mean, depending on regular or adult."

"Oh, uh, regular."

"Beautiful." It didn't matter. Not even a little bit. This was the most simplistic, tedious photography work ever. Straight, slightly-angled shots, then the backgrounds get chopped out, a little tweaking is done to brightness and contrast and whatever, and then someone puts them all on a layout with the words and the prices and the stupid smiling coupon clipart, but he liked making his supervisor think that this shit mattered. It made Dave feel important.

Though all Dave felt at that moment was hungry. The quickly-devoured chocolate Pop-Tart didn't sate his hunger earlier, and the pre-cooked rotisserie chicken from the deli counter sounded pretty great. It was noon, or 1PM eastern, which meant there was a 75% or so chance of Rose being awake, if not out of bed. A text would probably be more courteous, just in case.

'hey are you still doing the whole freud thing or have you given yourself over completely to summoning the dark ones'  
'because i need a dream analsexed if youre not dicking anything'  
'shit i mean analyzed and doing not dicking'  
'i hope you dont read too mom into that'  
'shit there i go again fuck i cant control this at all'

Okay, so maybe five texts was a bit less than courteous. No matter. He grabbed his chicken and a small container of potato salad, slipped an AJ from the drink case, and then headed for the break room.

He was close to finishing what was admittedly a pretty delicious meal when his phone buzzed.

'It sounds like you've got it pretty bad today. You need more help than what I can give over text. Call me when you get done work. I'll be around.'  
'Also, I hope you know I take screenshots of your mom slips and send them to her. Even the joking ones.'

Dave did not know that. Dave was going to yell at her for it... whine would be more accurate, but the diapers were calling to him, as was his supervisor.

\---

Dave flopped on the couch and turned the TV on, just for some background noise as silence was pretty deafening. It was dumb, realistically, given that he was about to be on the phone anyway. He scrolled down to Rose's number as he kicked his shoes off and hit call.

"Ah, Dave. There you are. I thought maybe you chickened out, like the squawking, ruffled thing that you are, worried that perhaps we would probe too deep into your horrible inner thoughts."

"Yes. Hello to you too, Rose. Always a pleasure. I need to start seeking advice elsewhere. Like Wikipedia. Or the Psychic Friends Network or some other such shit. They don't judge, Rose. Jimmy Wales doesn't give a shit about my inner workings. He just wants me to learn about season 2 of Battlestar Galactica and eventually wind up learning about Zimbabwe in some sort of stupor where I can't even piece together the last three hours of my life but for some reason know a lot more about arrhythmia than I used to."

"Does this count as pleasantries? Is this small talk? I never can tell. What's this about? Have you realized the dead endedness of taking pictures of lettuce and need to know how to unlock your full potential? Or were you taking pictures of sausages and finally had a revelation?"

"Okay, first of all, I am a fucking god at lettuce. I showed you the lettuce I did. I sent you those files. That lettuce was solid gold, and I was proud of that lettuce and I don't want to hear you bad mouthing my work. I am an artiste. Secondly, I am still not gay, Rose. As much as you'd like to think I am."

"Sorry, it's just, with as many of your former interests who are with women now."

"Two. That 'many' is two, Rose."

"That you know about, anyway."

"It's two, Rose. And this is not important. This is not on topic. The topic is I had a dream."

"Dream interpretation? Really, Dave?"

"No, look, this is a good one. So, I was rapping..."

"Shocker. I am so shocked. I could power Las Vegas for a week, with how shocked I am."

"No, shut up. Just. Stop. But then out of nowhere, this girl appears."

"Dave, I am not analyzing your sex dream. Not until it has a guy in it."

"This isn't a... you know, forget it. Never mind. You always do this. I just thought you'd want to know and could maybe help. Who else am I going to ask? The stockboy?"

"The stockboy could be a wealth of dream interpreting knowledge, Dave. You don't know."

"The only things he knows, as far as I can tell, is where to buy the shittiest weed imaginable and everything there is to know about speed metal. I will turn to him if I ever really need to know about Megadeth or want a really unsatisfying high. So, anyway. This girl, she was a catgirl."

"Oh, a catgirl. Did you get into the animes again? Dave, as a professional, I prescribe to you a body pillow. You know, one of those daki...ka..."

"Dakimakura!" Another voice sounded from Rose's end of the call.

"Who was that, Rose?"

"Hi, Dave!" Jade. It was Jade. Of course it was Jade.

"Am I on speaker? Anyone who wants to field that one, feel free to do so."

"Yep yep!" Jade, of course, fielded it. It was wierd enough that Rose was now dating his ex-girlfriend. But now she knew about his weird catgirl dreams too. And also knew about anime body pillows. "I'm consulting!"

"Yes, I needed to bring in the big guns, Dave. You understand. Now, what did this catgirl do? Was she in heat?"

"Fuck. No! She just said I was entertaining and said she'd see me soon and then I'd wake up. Dream over."

"You're not giving me a lot to go on here."

Dave was blushing. Dave was done. Today had just been too much. "Okay that's fine gotta go thanks for talking bye Jade sorry we didn't talk more okay." He went without punctuation and quickly hung up.

\---

Dave found himself on a mountainside, sitting on a thin, rocky shelf of a ledge. Wind whipped across his face, and he tilted his head upward, looking at how farther he had to go. The answer was... far.

He moved a hand up, grabbing for a handhold, and went to pull himself upward, but something was weighing him down. He tried again, and nothing. He looked back down, and it struck him that iron cuffs were clamped around his ankles, chains leading to large, heavy weights. Their shapes weren't permanent, shifting and changing, rolling ever closer to the edge until one fell, yanking him down. It took all he had to stay clinging to that wall, as another weight teetered ever close to the precipice. He looked up again, for another handhold...

But the cliff wall had changed. The handholds were gone, steel blades poking from the stone face. He reached for one.

"Having trouble?" It was a familiar voice, and despite his straining, he looked for the source, seeing the feline-esque girl drifting nearby. "This isn't as good as the other one, Dave..."

Dave grunted in response, grip faltering. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Oh! I forgot to tell you last time, huh? I'm Nepeta. It's nice to meet you. I just... hmm, I'm not sure, really. I want to help you." She floated down, pushing the weight more securely against the wall, dragging the fallen one up by its chain. She made it look so effortless. "And spend some more time with you?"

Dave sighed as the weights dragging him down were suddenly gone, Nepeta undoing the cuffs... somehow. It dawned on him again, finally, that he was dreaming. "Oh, uh, sure, we can do that."

"Oh, good! Not now though. But maybe next time, you can have a better dream?"

\---

Dave awoke to his alarm clock again, but also, oddly, to something vibrating against his face. He had somehow fallen asleep with his phone. Somehow meaning he was reading about shitty kids cartoons from the '80s and drifted off in the process. Groggily, he looked to see why his phone was making such a ruckus.

'Are we Norse? Or at the very least, are you Norse?' What the fuck kind of question was this? He was convinced he was still dreaming when he saw who the sender was. Rose. Of course. He sighed, texting back.

'hell if i know'  
'want me to go get on the longboat and look for my family tree'  
'i think i saw a copy under my horned helmet'  
'also what the fuck are you doing up so early'

A buzz. 'Vikings didn't really wear horned helmets, actually. Which I guess is pretty strong evidence that you aren't Norse, since you don't know these things. Also, I was up all night researching for you. You're welcome.'

Researching? Oh, his dream. The girl. 'i saw her again by the way' He decided to skip the description of what was going on. The symbolism was so hamfisted that those fists could feed an extended family on Easter.

'Oh, interesting. Did she say anything?'

'that she wanted to protect me and hang out'

There was silence. No more texts for a few minutes. And then finally, 'Huh.'

'huh'

'Yes. Huh. The fact that she's humanoid means she's not a totem or spirit animal. She's cat-like, though? Has she ever been a cat?'

'i have never seen her as a cat no'

'I don't know, Dave. From what you're telling me, I've got it narrowed down to a fylgja, if it's even relevant at all.'  
'Jade says it could be a Digimon. I'm disregarding Jade's commentary on this matter though.'

'what the actual fuck is a fly jar'  
'autocorrect'

'It's kind of a... prophecy slash protector slash, well, other things. It's probably not important.'

'okay well i have to go catch the bus im pretty much officially on course for being late as hell so yeah' Dave hit the power button on his phone and got ready, indeed getting to work 20 minutes late.

\---

The dream world was... an odd place. Especially when no one was dreaming. A land of ghosts and fragments of false realities. Beings drifted through it, not quite aimlessly, waiting for their dreamers to return. They all had different purposes, though very few of them really had roles or titles. There were nightmares and prophetic warnings and fantasies and curses and crippling self-doubts and protectors and all sorts of things wandering. Things that were close enough to fylgjur, to daemons, to aku-aku, to shape-changing Mesoamerican spirits, but not quite the same. Beings with immeasurable lifespans who had been doing their jobs for uncountable years.

Nepeta was one such being. "It's just weird, is all."

"I don't understand." Nepeta was seeking guidance from what was basically her best friend. He was a hulking, dark creature. It was rare to see him out of shadow, and now was not one of those times. For someone of his size, he was timid. He was strong, but also broken. He was... something. His role was... something. He was regret. He lingered in dreams, in memories, and pointed out what went wrong, what could have gone different. Things that were over and done with but could never be changed.

"I'm just not used to him. To these people. He's not a warrior. He's not a knight. What am I protecting him from? Equius, I guide soldiers into battle. I watch over protectors of kingdoms. There's no war here, there's no fighting. There's just... loneliness. There's fear. And uncertainty."

Equius gave that broken-toothed, sad grin and shrugged from his shadowy corner. "Well, at least you won't have to deal with him much longer, yes?"

She gasped, a sudden anger filling her, and she couldn't tell quite why. "Don't say that!" She hissed out. Her tail fluffed out and her ears flattened against her head. "I like him. He's interesting. He... speaks? Sings? Something. He performs. It's clever. It's like poetry. You'd probably like it, Equius."

"He's no warrior."

"Equius, you talk to more artists and writers than anyone else!" She glared at him. She couldn't stand when he'd get like this.

"It isn't my fault they have an inordinate amount of regrets." He frowned, deep creases forming on his face, visible even in the dark.

"I know. I suppose it isn't his fault he isn't a warrior, either."

\---

"So, Rose." Dave was on the phone. Dave, as previously mentioned, knew that Wikipedia existed. He was pretty familiar with it.

"Yes, Dave? I'm very surprised by this phone call."

"Yes, well, I didn't expect to be making it, I guess. I just need to know why you didn't see a need to tell me the whole harbinger of death thing!"

"Harbinger is a bit much, Dave. I mean, really. Omen is more accurate. And that's even if she's a fylgja. They have two forms. Animal and human. She's more an amalgam, right?"

"Still, you should tell me about death omens."

"Dave, it's nonsense."

"And tentacle monsters don't exist outside anime, Rose." He hung up. He didn't need this hanging over his head.

\---

"You can come out, Nepeta." Dave knew right from the start this time. He'd never been a lucid dreamer, but he could just tell. He was a grocery photographer with a decent apartment in Texas. He was not a rap star. He was not a mountain climber. And he wasn't actually staring down the hooded figure of death right now. It was a dream. It was on his mind, and he was dreaming it. That was pretty perfectly clear.

Death was what Death most commonly looked like to Dave. A skeleton man in an old black robe with a massive scythe in his bony hand. Dave didn't even fear death. At least, he didn't think he did. He feared finality. He feared the finite nature of time. And that his was ticking. That it could run out at any moment, and if weird dream girls with cat ears and gross psychoanalyzing cousins were to be believed, time was almost out.

Nepeta didn't reveal herself.

\---

"What do I do, Equius?" Nepeta was frantic. Not overtly so, but she was bristling, her eyes darting, her tail lashing behind her like an angry snake. "I know how to protect someone in battle. How do I protect against random gunshot? A failing organ? A... I don't even know how he's going to die. I can't even warn him." She sighed.

Equius had no answer.

She looked up at him from where she was crouched. "What if I don't bring him with me? When I'm supposed to. What if I don't invite him? Maybe he won't die? Right?"

Equius, again, had no answer. Well, he did. But she wouldn't like it. For her benefit, he made himself have an answer. "He's lost, Nepeta. You said you saw him and he was lost. You need to guide him. You need to fight for him. His time is almost up. Humans are weak. And fragile. Even the strongest ones. They are mortal and they fail and they bust apart and they need us. They need us to bring them over. You know this."

Nepeta sighed. She couldn't hide again.

\---

'Dave, you're not really worried about some weird dreams, right? You're better than that.' Dave switched his phone off after a cursory glance at the message, trying to figure out how to make the plastic wrapper on a 10-pack of hot dog buns not actually give off any glare. It would be easier if he would have been able to get some sleep after that dream.

\---

Nepeta didn't waste any time, this time. This was it. As soon as the world formed around her, she parked herself right in front of Dave. She'd forced a smile on her face. "Hello, Dave."

"Oh, good. You still exist. Wasn't your shift last night, I guess?" Nepeta looked at him with confusion at his apparent joke, and he just kind of shrugged since she clearly didn't get it.

"Umm... I... anyway. Dave, I think we should talk."

"Not even gonna let the dream start?" The world around them was a haze, a mist, unformed and unfocused, Dave's subconscious not getting a break even long enough to piece things together.

"Does it need to? I mean, we can just talk." She was nervous. She could feel it in her voice, in the twitching of her ears, in the way she swallowed. She didn't even need to swallow. But she was doing it.

"I guess not. What are you?" He came right out and asked. "My ex-girlfriend has money riding on Digimon. But I don't feel Digidestined. My half-sister says some Norse thing. My bet is repressed memories of dad's late night anime collection."

"I'm Nepeta. That's it. I'm a... hunter?" She grinned as she said it. She was, a long time ago. Before being made into a being of dreams. "But that isn't relevant, I guess." Her proud grin faded to a sheepish smile. "You should come hunt with me, though. Maybe we can do that now, if you're eager for a dream. Have you ever hunted, Dave?"

"The bar down the street has one of those big arcade cabinets where you shoot deer. I had the 6th high score until it went out of order and everything got reset. So, long story short. No. Also, pretty sure coming with you is a bad idea. Pretty sure that means I'm dying."

"No, not exactly." Nepeta rolled her eyes, not out of typical eye-rolling, but in thought. Hard thoughts. "Kind of. You are. Well, you will. Why is this so complicated?"

"I don't know, Avril. You tell me."

"It's Nepeta." Dave shook his head. Apparently Nepeta missed another joke. "You're dying no matter what. But... it's easier this way. If you just come with me? You accept it. I think it happens no matter what."

"You think?" Dave laughed a little. "You don't know?" The entire idea was ludicrous. "This isn't how shit works. There's no spirit guides or magical talking animals or death predictions or anything. I'm sick of this Harry Potter Narnia J.R.R. Tolkein bullshit. Tell Gandalf I want to get off. I'm unenrolling from Hogwarts. Where's the fucking wardrobe?"

Nepeta sighed. She had seen this before. Maybe with different words. And a different attitude. People declaring they had many battles left in them. How their foes were pathetic and had no hope of striking them down. How this last feast wouldn't be their last. How fate could be defeated. She gave Dave a look. And the look said it all. "I've been at this a very long time, Dave. For kings and queens and warriors and people lauded as demigods. Death comes for all of them, Dave. It certainly comes for silly little bards who want to get out of a closet."

That last bit would be hilarious if not for the circumstances in which Nepeta said that. Dave pouted. He honestly pouted. He stared.

"Dave, just think about it. You need to decide soon. I'm going to leave now, but you really should come hunting with me sometime. Sometime soon." She gave a sad smile as the walls of Dave's old high school formed, and as the homeroom bell rang, she was gone around a corner.

\---

"But what if it's true, Rose?" Dave took the day off work. He wasn't going to get anything done. Nothing satisfactory.

"David Strider. Do you hear yourself? There's nothing to this. They're just dreams. If dreams came true, you would be a world famous rap star and in a polyamorous relationship with a woman who reminds you of Mom and, well, some guy."

"Rose."

"I'm just saying, dreams are meaningless. They don't predict--Jade, I--ugh, I forget how into that she is." Jade had a dream about Dave. It... fit with the current theory. Rose laughed that off too. "I need to go, Dave, before she ends up digging a whole new garden plot. You'll be fine, okay?"

\---

Death was there again. With blaring horns and a screech, he announced himself. Dave had such trouble reaching sleep, he didn't even remember when it came. But he was face to face with skeletal hands and dark robes... and Nepeta. She gave a sad wave, moving between Dave and the reaper, tail swatting in annoyance at the apparition.

"Have you given it any thought, Dave?" She hoped he had. She really did. He was special. He was unlike anyone she'd ever gone after before, and that meant something. Maybe there were big plans for him. Maybe not. Maybe she could just teach him how to hunt. Maybe he could teach her how to perform his poetry. Maybe he'd even let her wear his glasses.

"Let's go. Let's do this." After all. Time was short. Even in dreams, Dave knew he could wake up at any second, really. It was unpredictable here. Unpredictable but also finite. "Let's go kill us a dream deer or whatever."

Nepeta offered a hand to Dave, and he took it. The grim specter of death watched as they left. Time had a habit of slipping away without Dave wanting it too. Precious seconds falling through his fingers. This was the day it had all caught up with him. Dozing against the bus station wall, falling forward, today was the one day Dave's bus actually ended up coming right on time.


End file.
